


Nahkriin mahfaeraak nahlot (Vengeance forever silenced)

by AlexRylie



Series: The Dragonborn Chronicles [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Crossover, Dragonborn | Dovahkiin in Thedas (Dragon Age), F/M, and knows how to forgive, but wont hesitate to punch, guess who the inquisitor is, it's a bit different, no really, other game references, powerful dragonborn, retired!Dragonborn, well at least she was, who knows how to handle herself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:21:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22562419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexRylie/pseuds/AlexRylie
Summary: The Last Dovahkiin has loved and lost, praised victories and mourned defeats. She was done with Skyrim and its imaginary claim over her, no longer serving its inhabitants.The Last Dragonborn retired, able to live her life on her own terms- with her Voice kept silent.With Alduin defeated, Lord Harkon nothing more than ash, Miraak freed from his prison and walking a different path- retirement should have been all that awaited the Last.The Wheel never stoped turning on the Last Dragonborn however.A new enemy rises and strikes, taking Miraak from Tamriel- a powerful foe with horrible ambitions awaits the Last as she seeks to rescue her fellow Dovahkiin in a world called Thedas.Who will rescue them from a broken sky, deadly demons and persecution?
Relationships: Blackwall (Dragon Age)/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Blackwall | Thom Rainier/Original Female Character(s), Blackwall/Original Female Character(s), Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn & Miraak, Miraak (Elder Scrolls)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Dragonborn Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639786
Comments: 9
Kudos: 87





	1. Act One: Beware, Beware

  
  
**"** ** _....The Dragonborn comes."_ **

_**Ashlyn Ysmir Strundu'ul  
**_

The Last Dragonborn She Who Bears the Storm Crown   
Dragon of the North Bane of Alduin  
Champion of the Dawnguard Savior of Solstheim  
Master of the Thu'um The Revered Peacemaker  
Breaker of Chains The Half-Blood Savior  
The Unburnt Butcher of War _  
_ Destroyer of Legacies She Who Slaughters 

_"For years, I was quiet. My voice was silent for I had no reason to shout. A Dragon in soul, a tired woman in spirit.  
My only desire was for a chance to finally rest after decades of being a pawn in Destiny's game.  
I've gotten so for two years, with now being the time where someone I cared for needed not just the woman, but the Dragon within.  
This 'Thedas' knows not will happen, nor those that threaten one of my own, but I will make sure they never forget the reason why the **Last Dragonborn** came." _

**_Miraak_**  
The First Dragonborn Child of War  
Paragon of Redemption Master of the Thu'um  
Dreamwalker Elder Dragon  
Dragon of the East He Who Bows No More  
  
_"I have come far since my days bound to Herma Mora.  
No longer do I have a master to please or placate, given another chance when no other would dare try.  
__My chains were broken and I was free.  
I should have known that no dragon can exist in peace, however, as the ones who captured me wanted my power.  
These beings are strong. Stronger than any being should be. Darkness embodied.  
I am no weakling, but these chains torment and drain me to no end.  
I shall bide my time, nonetheless, until my kin can help break my chains once more." _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for this fic, I'll be continuous changing parts like the Act introductions. It's mostly because I fly by the seat of my pants when I write, so things either change or become much more important than I thought they'd be. This fic will be separated into Acts and will try to follow a linear path, but no promises. Don't hesistate to comment on anything, please. They do keep me motivated.


	2. Playlist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing this once again....joy.

**Vokul Fen Mah by Malukah**   
_Sul, sul fent alok_   
_(Day, day shall arise)_   
_Nahkriin mahfaeraak nahlot_   
_(Vengeance forever silenced)_   
_Qahnaar fin mey wo nis koraav_   
_(Vanquish the fool who cannot see)_

* * *

  
  
**Take me to Church by Hozier**   
_Take me to church_   
_I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies_   
_I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife_   
_Offer me that deathless death_   
_Good God, let me give you my life._   
_No masters or kings when the ritual begins_   
_There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin_   
_In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene_   
_Only then I am human_   
_Only then I am clean_   
_Amen, Amen, Amen  
_

* * *

**The Parting glass** _  
Of all the comrades that e'er I had  
They're sorry for my going away  
And all the sweethearts that e'er I had  
They'd wish me one more day to stay  
But since it fell unto my lot  
That I should rise and you should not  
I gently rise and softly call  
Good night and joy be to you all  
_

* * *

**Here's to Us by Halestorm**   
_Here's to us, here's to love_   
_All the times that we fucked up_   
_Here's to all that we kissed_   
_And to all that we missed_   
_To the biggest mistakes_   
_That we just wouldn't trade_

* * *

**When They Call My Name by Black Veil Brides  
** _These thoughts'll kill me_  
 _And everything that I hold true_  
 _It's a loud and dark world_  
 _But I think I've found the light_ **  
**

* * *

**Walk Through the Fire by Zayde Wolf  
** _I try to understand_  
 _How we're here again_  
 _In the middle of the storm_  
 _There's no way to go_  
 _But straight through the smoke_  
 _And the fight is all we know._

* * *

**The Dragonborn Comes  
** _Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart._  
 _I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes._  
 _Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes._  
 _For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows,_  
 _A battle, a battle brought on Dragonwing._  
 _Not far, not far, the Dragonborn comes._  
 _And all will be measured, both coward and King._  
 _I know, I know, the Dragonborn comes._

* * *

 ** Centuries by Fall Out Boy  
** _Some legends are told_  
 _Some turn to dust or to gold_  
 _But you will remember me_  
 _Remember me, for centuries_  
 _Just one mistake_  
 _Is all it will take_  
 _We'll go down in history_  
 _Remember me for centuries  
_

* * *

 ** Midnight Oil by Tommee Profit  
** _I want a love that can take me down_  
 _Show me up and cross off all my doubts_  
 _So when you're ready take off your mask_  
 _I need everything for this to last_  
 _I want a love where my heart can stand  
_

* * *

**You're Going Down by Sick Puppies  
** _It's been a long time comin'_  
 _And the table's turned around_  
 _'Cause one of us is goin' down_  
 _I'm not runnin'_  
 _It's a little different now_  
 _'Cause one of us is goin'_  
 _Let's take a trip down memory lane_  
 _The words circulate in my brain_  
 _You can treat this like another all I'm sayin'_  
 _But don't cry like a bitch when you feel the pain  
_

* * *

** Courtsey Call by Thousand Foot Krutch  
** _I am not afraid of the storm that comes my way_  
 _When it hits it shakes me to the core_  
 _And makes me stronger than before_  
 _I think it might wash away tonight_  
 _Awaken from this never ending fight_

* * *

**Legendary by Skillet**  
 _Never gonna keep me down_  
 _Still the one that's standin' now_  
 _Destiny is callin' me_  
 _Go down in history_  
 _Legends are made when faith is strong_  
 _Wings are made to fly_  
 _Fears are born to die_  
 _Pushin' through the pain,_  
 _Pushin' through, breakin' through_  
 _Whatever it takes, what I gotta do_  
 _Givin' my all, givin' all that I've got_

* * *

**Already Dead by Hollywood Undead**  
 _Here I am again at the edge of a knife_  
 _Some of us are born at the end of our lives_  
 _I can see the end of your reign_  
 _I can feel the hate filling your veins_  
 _Watch me now as I'm breaking the chains_  
 _Leaving your whole empire in flames_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a spotfiy verison. Just search for "Vengeance Forever Silenced" :)


	3. Prologue- "Destiny Fondly Dreaming"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What leads to the Dragonborn being pulled from retirement?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this happened. I recently reread a bunch of my favorite Dragon Age fanfics across several different platforms, and I decided that I need to contribute. The plot bunnies ran wild, yall. I finished the last DLC for Skyrim then finished the last quest for Tresspasser, now here I am. Ashlyn is not my first Dragonborn, nor will she be my last. She's a bit overpowered, sure, but she's also the Last Dragonborn that survived (and defeated) not one, but THREE dire world-threatening enemies. She's allowed to be powerful, okay?  
> I've read a few Cullen/Dragonborn fics, and while they were great, I felt like it was time for me to steer myself into an alternate direction. Here, I present to you- Blackwall/Dragonborn! Sure, it might not fit quite easily as a Lion and a Dragon would (That's a joke by the way), but it will happen. Buckle up, because it's not a slow burn, but its really not love at first sight- it'd probably be better to say love at first shout. I won't spoil any more (did I even?), so please enjoy.  
> Title is also a tribute to one of my favorite singers of all time, Malukah, from her song "Vokul Fen Mah" which lends some inspiration. She also does a few other Skyrim/Elder scrolls related songs, so please go check her out. 
> 
> I don't own anything (sadly). 
> 
> PS: please don't expect regular updates, they just never seem to happen.

**Bannered Mare, Whiterun**

Ashlyn sat in uncomfortable silence as the bard sung through a horrible rendition of "the Dragonborn Comes" to what other few patrons were loitering around. Ironically enough, it seemed that no one else bothered as to _why_ the bard had sung such, given it was now a terrible cliché. The blond nord had seen her come striding in a swirl of black cloth and obsidian armor, recognizing the Dragonborn. It seemed Mikael wasn't as keen to forget a face as Ashlyn was. 

More's the pity. 

Ashlyn was at the counter, talking to Hilga about the lastest news and rumors to come through. It seemed that nothing really of importance had struck. Of course, Hilga mentioned something about the Dragonborn having supposedly returned to Skyrim. 

Damn couriers and their big mouths. 

Ashlyn had been retired (or as Serena called it 'Self-imposed and well-deserved exile') for two years, where Ashlyn lived in quiet contemplation within the vast plains of the Reach. The worst trouble she'd had was a few foresworn trying to badger her into giving them her meat and animal bones, to which she'd merely gave them a blank look before burning them to a crisp with a fire spell. 

It was nice. 

Nearly a moon ago, the Jarl of Whiterun had sent out a bounty for her head. 

It was seemingly an impossible task, given she hadn't been seen for quite a while, but when a few hunters had broken into her house in the dead of night...Ashlyn could no longer hide. The Jarl wanted the Dragonborn, therefor he would get the full brunt of his actions as she burnt him alive. 

To be fair, it was no longer Jarl balgruff who now ruled from the wooden Dragon prison, but a younger Jarl that had no doubt un-honorably murdered Ashlyn's once ally. 

Ah, politics. 

Now, here she was, having donned her well-worn armor and a black cloak to hide her face in an inn she wished to never see again. 

Hilga leaned over the counter a bit, speaking to Ashlyn in a conspiratorial whisper, "There's an elf by the door that looks up to no good. I'll pay you to get him out."

Ashlyn was startled at that. This seemed almost too familiar, given that she'd once been here, in this exact same inn and chair with Hilga-

An elf?

Was it not supposed to be a Breton Hilga would ask her to get out of the inn?

Glancing over her shoulder, Ashlyn found the elf in question. He seemed old and weary to her, yet almost brimming with excitement at his surroundings. Strange.

Ashlyn gets to her feet and closes the distance, a strange anticipation settling in her gut the same as a stone would. 

The elf gazes at her figure, that is almost as tall as he is, as she stands before him. 

"Who are you?" Ashlyn inquires with what she hoped was a friendly manner.

The elf startles a bit, but recovers with a smirk on his face.

"A topic for another time, I'm afraid, given that it's time for you to _wake up_ ."

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Despite the elf's strange words, Ashlyn did not wake up. If anything she slipped farther into sleep, with an eerily familiar lure she'd only felt a few times. 

It was Miraak. 

The First Dragonborn was equal in power to the Last, yet they both had unique abilites unknown to the other. Miraak was able to slip into dreams as easily as if walking through an open door. He'd exploited this before Ashlyn had arrived on Solsthiem, when he'd stolen some of her dragon souls.

For a moment, in the dreamscape of her cabin in the far Reach, Ashlyn felt some of her inbred melancholy (as it is such an easy thing for a _**Dovah** _to succumb to) fade a bit with the First Dragonborn's presence. They'd been friends since she'd broken his chains years ago, freed him from the clutches of Herma Mora in exchange for a few of her stronger dragon souls. The daedric prince had lamented about his loss, but hadn't bothered either of them since.

Until now.

Herma Mora had orchestrated the removal of the First Dragonborn from Tamriel by way of some powerful force, even now her dreamscape shifted to the night she witnessed her best friend be taken.

Miraak hadn't gone quietly, burning down a small village in his wake with **_Yol-Toor-Shul_** _._ When his captors had drained him of power, his energy depleted, they'd simply turned and fled into the blackened night. Ashlyn had been left among the still burning village, collapsing among the grotesques screams of agony and suffering she could offer no balm for. 

"Ysmir." a comforting voice called to her from beyond the burning village of the landscape. It was somewhat cracked and dry, this voice, yet Ashlyn could recognize it anywhere. 

"Miraak!" Ashlyn called in obvious happiness. She had felt his presence the moment he'd walked into her dreams, yet it wasn't the same as hearing his voice. 

The Atmoran Dragonborn stood on the edges of the fire, unconcerned about the flames that could set his armor ablaze. 

"You have come for me, Ysmir. Thank you." 

Ashlyn chuckled a bit, "Of course I have Miraak. I always will." 

"Even with peace, you have not forgotten how to break chains." 

Ashlyn shook her head, "Never. I am in this 'Thedas' already. Any wisdom as to what I should expect?" 

Miraak seemed slightly amused by her words, "The Last asking for wisdom from the First." 

"No, I'm asking for wisdom from _you_ , Miraak." 

They stood in silence for several moments, with Miraak hesitant to respond no doubt. 

The edges of her dreamscape began to blur, the once red flames dulling to grey before snuffing out- Miraak still stood there in sharp contrast, his own visage fading last from her vision, only his voice could be heard when the world turned to endless black. 

"I am only the first of many problems Thedas will have."

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it, the prologue. It does take place after Ashlyn arrives in Thedas, before the breach and Conclave, but as to how she gets there will be explained in later chapters. Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter One: "Bloody Blade, Obscure Tongue"

**Chapter One**

_**Bloody Blade, Obscure Tongue** _

**The Emerald Graves**

The Dragonborn wasn't a coward, nor was she a needless murderer. 

Even when her _**Dovah** _soul demanded an outlet for unspent range, Ashlyn had found other means to calm herself before she bloodied her blade un-necessarily. It was one of the many things that separated her from the cutthroats and mercenaries she'd once lived as. Those were harsh times for those just trying to survive and a girl barely into adulthood had few options. She had been seventeen and trying to escape a bounty on her head when she'd crossed the border. Home was wherever she had a moment's respite, which Skyrim did not offer her.

The Empire had the balls to try to recruit her against the Stormcloaks after nearly taking her head from her shoulders. The Stormcloaks had the bravado to assume she was one of theirs by her namesake, their Nordic legend come to life. She had cut down both sides, to which they eventually surrendered to her. It wasn't easy, but she had done it and she felt no guilt for her actions, for they were required for peace to come. 

As for not being a coward, she'd faced down _**Al-du-in**_ twice and hadn't flinched. He had only barely won against her upon the **_Monahven_** (Throat of the World) even when he had nearly thrown her off the mountain, his wing claws leaving behind nasty slashes down her front, from shoulder to hip. They had scarred into gangly ropes of pale flesh and were something she oddly prided herself in. She'd survived. 

Harkon had scarred her when he'd tried to bite her, a jagged scar down the right side of her neck that had turned almost black over time. It was only her _**Dovah sos** _(Dragon blood) that had kept her alive and from becoming a vampire. 

Miraak had given her a few, but none she couldn't forgive him for. 

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

Standing in the lush green scenery, the Dragonborn observed a potential enemy from afar. It was a large bear, bigger than one of the cave dwelling ones from Skyrim, but it's fur was black as ebony. Beautiful, but it's pelt and meat wouldn't be worth the trouble if she'd be injured in the process. She'd have to distract it and try to execute a surprise kill move, something she was hoping would be efficient. Bears were surprisingly hard to sneak up on if you weren't careful enough. 

Approaching on quiet feet, aided by her armor's soft sole padding, Ashlyn crouched with her side pressed against a tree and short sword drawn. Dragonbane and Karliah's bow rested over her shoulder, yet they weren't needed if this attack went to plan.

Taking a deep breath, drawing from her inner _**Dovah,**_ Ashlyn pushed her _**Thu'um**_ into the world with the first word of Throw Voice:

_**ZUL** _

Ashlyn's voice echoed from behind the bear, with it properly turning to face in said direction, giving Ashlyn a short window of time.

With a calm heart and a steady hand, Ashlyn leapt.

  
{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

Ashlyn's hunt had gone well. 

A friendly hunter had agreed to making the black pelt into a mantle against the cold in exchange for some the bear's meat. It would be added as a fur mantle to her armor, which was a sturdy leather jerkin buckled up her torso.

It was a quiet night that followed, with Ashlyn tucked away in a rock enclave for shelter. The land she found herself was called 'the Emerald Graves' and had some significant elven history, according to the hunter (who had gladly loaned her his map). How ironic that her journey began somewhere with the word 'Grave' in its name.

Come dawn, Ashlyn began the trek towards the Hinterlands with the warning of bloodshed imminent should she travel there. The hunter spoke of something along the lines of 'civil war' but he refused to speak more due to paranoia. An understandable reaction given who he was unknowingly talking to.

As she continued her trek, Ashlyn spent her time meditating on the **_Rotmulaag_** (the words of power)for the first time in years. It was as if she was greeting an old friend. 

As a fire-attuned _**Dovah**_ , Ashlyn felt a stronger connection to **_Yol_ **than _**Fo** , _fire rather than frost. **_Yol-Toor-Shul_** (Fire-Inferno-Sun) was comforting to mediate on as she walked.   
  


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It wasn't pleasant.

Ashlyn had managed to make it to the Hinterlands, if her borrowed map was correct, yet seemingly the moment she stepped past its borders- Steel against steel echoed across the valley as Ashlyn fought against a few would-be bandits. 

They had some skill, Ashlyn admitted, yet they were no match for a Dragonborn- even one straight out of retirement. Dragonbane was steady in her grasp as she parried with rusted prescion. It _had_ been a while since she'd last fought.

Shoving one of them away with the heel of her foot, Ashlyn stood back as they took a breath. She growled, voice strained from disuse as she forced her _**Thu'um**_ into her words, " **Walk away**." 

They didn't. 

Ashlyn merely shrugged, taking a defensive stance with Dragonbane clutched in both hands, tightened grip on it's hilt. She'd warned them, although she supposed the practice would do her good anyways. 

As she spun and twisted with Dragonbane, Ashlyn heard something whoosh past her ear, barely missing her. An archer was here too, Ashlyn mentally grumbled. She would have to gain ground to be able to deflect the arrows.

Throwing herself backwards, Ashlyn rolled from shoulder to opposite hip to once again stand in defense, much to the surprise of the bandits.

Dragonbane now in front of her face, Ashlyn instinctively deflected the next arrow, causing the bandits to pause. 

She could never explain how she did it, although it did come from some practice, but in theory, Ashlyn's senses heightened in combat enough to sense danger she couldn't see. It wasn't always effective, given the first arrow surprised her. 

Another arrow was deflected, followed by a third in short succession. 

The bandits resumed their attack, but Ashlyn was far too angry now to hold back. She was tired and just wanted to sleep. So throwing the two bandits away from her once again, in the direction of the archer (thus the arrows were blocked), Ashlyn shouted, 

_**YOL** _

A tunnel of flames burst from Ashlyn's mouth, catching the bandits in the wake. Their screams pierced the air and hurt Ashlyn's ears for a moment, but she had no remorse. She gave them a chance to keep their lives.

Flicking a few blood specks from her blade, Ashlyn began heading in the direction of the Archer, walking around the burning corpses. No more arrows were fired and after waiting a few moments, Ashlyn realized that the Archer had fled after her shout. At least one of them had common sense.

The remaining blood wiped from Dragonbane on her trousers before being sheathed, Ashlyn moved on.

The **_Thu'um_** could echo loudly with most shouts, and despite being only one word out of three, _**Yol**_ could still draw attention. 

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

Ashlyn was seen as a godsend by the Hinterlands Refugees.

Apparently the hunter hadn't been exaggerating about bloodshed when he spoke of the Hinterlands. It was a bloody _war_ that had taken the surrounding area, but Ashlyn was having none of it. She'd seen enough war for her lifetime and wished to only defend, never attack. 

_**Evgir unslaad.** _Season Unending._ _

The ancient Nord phrase for War rang in the Dragonborn's head. Master Argenir of the Greybeards had told her that all of those years ago, right before they'd made the peace treaty. It hadn't lasted long after _**Al-du-in**_ 's downfall, yet those words rang true even after Ashlyn had ended the in-fighting. 

She still remembered the chaos.

Ashlyn had taken it upon herself to aid the startling number of refugees with their needs and had asked about what was being done about the war.

Apparently a Divine was holding a conclave to discuss a means to an end. 

A _divine_? 

Ashlyn wanted to laugh at that for two reasons- One, a Divine hardly ever gets involved with politcs and two, pulling the two warring groups into the same place is just asking for chaos. At least Ashlyn had only requested the leaders and their seconds. One shout would have been enough to kill them all at that table. 

But a conclave? 

The once familiar feeling of impending doom sat heavy on Ashlyn's shoulders. Not everyone would be walking out of that conclave alive, the Dragonborn realized with despair.

.... _And there was nothing she could do about it._

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Somewhere far away, Miraak writhed in silent agony against the chains binding him. His captors hadn't heard him speak anything legible since being bound, little more than slurred words in a guttural language they could not understand. When the First had seen their obvious confusion he'd offered them a pained smirk before succumbing to sleep. 

He still spat the language in their faces whenever he was awake, seemingly enjoying their annoyance. 

" _ **Oblaan joor**_." was the most common thing heard from him. It was said with such contempt that the guards back away from him instinctively. 

" _**Ni nunon Dov-ah-kiin**_ _."_ was only heard a few times, the First saying it so matter-of-factly that the guards became paranoid despite not knowing what he meant.  
  
When Miraak's captor attempted to glean information from him? They would only get, " _ **Pahlok kos hin oblaan**_ " and " _ **Zu'u fen ag hi**_ ".  
  
Miraak did little more than annoy his captor with his words, as obscure as they were, given that he wasn't there to speak.

Oh no, there was a far _worse_ plan involved. 

_I am only one of many problems Thedas will have._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there we go! It feels incredibly awkward, but hey, how's that different from real life? 
> 
> The timeline goes like this: Ashlyn is 17 at the beginning of the main quest line, lasting roughly two years (Ashlyn is 19). There's four years between the main quest line and the beginning of Dawnguard (23). Dawnguard lasts about a year (24). There's a five year difference between Dawnguard and the beginning of Dragonborn (29) and lasts less than a year. After another year, that's spent alongside Miraak (30). Ashlyn spent two years in retirement so by the beginning of Inquisition she's 32 years old. This is for reference for both of us here, folks.


	5. Chapter Two: "Idea Interlude"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably gonna be a short one, folks. Skyrim on my pc refuses to work, so playing for my muse to inspire me is impossible. Wish me luck.

**Chapter Two**

**_Idea Interlude_ **

**The Hinterlands** , **Redcliffe**

What was it about Ashlyn that made others think she'd do any number of meaningless tasks without hesitation? 

The refugees were taken care of for the moment, so she'd taken the moment of respite to travel to Redcliffe- the nearest town from the Crossroads. It was grating on Ashlyn's nerves that she was the only one doing anything to help the ones trying to stay neutral- a choice she'd respected during Skyrim's own civil war. Where was the Jarl in all this?

Arl. Not Jarl. An Arl.

The striking similarities, yet brutal differences Ashlyn had already found within a week between Tamriel and Thedas-it made her head hurt. So many things she'd have to remember to change- her mannerisms, speech pattern, word choices were all a hinderance to the Dragonborn thus far. As far as the few magic spells she could actually cast? A cause for fear. 

Damn Thedas to Oblivion. Throw the magic hate-mongers into a gate and snap it shut for all she cared. Ashlyn would gladly face whatever daedra came through, they really couldn't be any worse. 

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Only a week in and Ashlyn was far too tempted to abandon Miraak to whatever Destiny had in store for him. 

She hadn't dreamt since the first night in Thedas either, no mysterious elf or fellow Dragonborn awaiting her- something Ashlyn found concerning. Where was Miraak? She needed his help to pinpoint where he was. Unfortunately, Ashlyn did not possess the capability to Dream walk the same as Miraak. He'd tried to teach her, but gave up shortly after. 

Magic was definitely _not_ her forte.  
  
Which was ironic considering she was a 'Master of the _**Thu'um**_ ', the ancient magic derived from _**Dov**_.  
  
Not her fault she has the soul of an overgrown worm.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

Ashlyn stayed as far away from Redcliffe castle as possible, striking up a conversation with a few of the townspeople for information. Apparently, the Arl _was_ trying to help the refugees, but was being held back for some reason. Ashlyn guessed that resources were lacking. The bandits attacking caravans probably didn't help either.

There's an idea.

News had spread among the refugees about the burnt corpses in the hills, with some asking Ashlyn if she was responsible. Ashlyn neither confirmed or denied it (seeing as she had no way of explaining away her use of fire without including the word _magic_ somewhere), but the remaining bandits had stayed away from the Crossroads for the most part. If Ashlyn could chase them back towards the Crossroads (where she'd have help dealing with them, thankfully), it would leave the caravans with few to fight off.

It was indeed an idea, a decent one at that, but for it to work, she'd need to make sure to strike against the bandits _directly_ or in smaller groups in quick succession. Either wait for nightfall, using stealth to assassinate a handful, leaving a false trail for them to follow....or she could use **_Yol_** again in direct combat, in the hopes for fear value to work in her favor.

For the most part, Ashlyn was hesitant about the second option, given that magic was majorly feared here- if she used her _**Thu'um**_ and left a witness alive, she'd no doubt bring trouble down on her head. 

So, stealth it was. 

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Ashlyn spent the majority of the following evening mapping out the bandit camp, which was surprisingly not that hard to find. It was situated in a half circle, with no clear reason as to why. With their backs to the road, one could easily approach from behind and set fire to the tents (why they set it up as so, Ashlyn could not understand- was it arrogance or lack of common sense?) There was about twenty in the camp by the time dusk came around, chatting amongst themselves as they settled in for the night. Their watchmen were three from east to west and did not move much, stupid move on their parts. Ashlyn waited for a while longer to see if anything changed, to which there was none. With a sigh, Ashlyn pulled up her hood and began her approach. 

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Ashlyn spent the rest of her night leading a false trail to the upper hills of the Hinterlands, covering her tracks by moonlight (two moons in the sky gave her plenty of it) and circling back to her camp close to the Crossroads for some sleep. She was confident that she had time before the bodies were discovered.

With that, Ashlyn slipped into sleep. 

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Lucidness greeted the Last in her dreams, as did the familiar sight of her cabin in the Reach. She sat in on her porch chair, greeting the familiar sight of the vast plains and forests stretched out before her. A sight that somehow never failed to humble the woman despite her age and experience. Skyrim was beautiful as she was deadly. 

"Ysmir." 

Ashlyn turned to face Miraak, who stood a few feet to her right. He was covered in blood, dripping from the collar and hem of his armored robes, studying her in the solemn way she was so used to. 

"Miraak? What has happened to you? You're-" 

The First cut off her words with a hand raised, palm forwards in her direction-"I do not have much time Ysmir, my body is far too weak. My captors are to bring me to a Conclave, you must intercept them in a week's time."

"Conclave? A week?"

"Yes. Ysmir, prepare for a battle."

"Against your captors?"

"The one who leads will bring war."

War? Ashlyn had stepped into what she'd sworn to avoid. More needless bloodshed. Peace shattered farther.

_**Evgir unslaad.** Season Unending, indeed._

"Conserve your strength, Ysmir. We will need it in the days that follow." 

"Miraak-" 

"No, Ysmir-" 

"I don't understand!" 

" **Wake up.** " 

And powerless to stop him, Ashlyn did so. 

She woke up and began the preparations for war. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the time of me posting this, my skyrim game runs, but has a bad case of infinite loading screen. I just can't seem to win! Anyways, I don't quite know how I feel about how this chapter turned out...but I'm posting it anyways. If you haven't checked it out already, I have a media and cut content work for this fic. I've already posted a few picture collections, because I was bored and didn't feel like writing. I'll be posting a collection for this chapter and parts of the first and prologue, possibly also some "party banter" that might not make it into the fic.  
> Please don't forget to leave me a comment, they keep me motivated and I need all I can get in this one sided battle with my pc (one sided because my PC has already won, but I'm stubborn).  
> See you next time!


	6. Chapter Three: "My Hands Are Bloody, This I Know"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks of another life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place before the current events and sometime after Alduin's defeat (although it is before Dawnguard or Dragonborn). I wrote about the Civil war and how it ended, but wanted to elaborate further, because it does loan to Ashlyn's character. A turning point in her life.

**Chapter Three**

_ **My Hands Are Bloody, This I Know** _

Once every year, Skyrim has a day of darkness.

The sun rises, although it never warms the lands and it's color is ebony with no explanation for why. Skyrim's people called it "The Day of the Black Sun", with equal amounts of awe and fear as it passed. The moon would rise, as it always did, but until then the lands were dark. 

With the dark, came the danger as those of the Underworld understood. 

Even though she had left such a life of murder and mayhem behind, Ashlyn relied on the lessons she was taught daily....more so as she prepared for a mass assassination.

The Dragonborn she would not be.

A blade in the shadows she would become.

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Forsaking her armor, leather and steel, Ashlyn dawned Assassin's garb. Black upon black, scarlet as blood, Ashlyn was swathed in a murderer's embrace. Sithis, she knows, was who the Dark Brotherhood sold their souls. Her life was to Lady Nocturnal, who she asked for luck as she scaled the frozen stone of the Palace of Kings. Her eyes were cold as she contemplated life. She was about to assassinate a would-be king and his command. They would be martyrs, yes, but not the only. The Rebellion and the Imperial force would know so by this day.

Talos forgive her, but this war had to end.

It had sealed her fate, Skyrim's fate, as the prophecy foretold, 'When the Snow tower lies, sundered, kingless, bleeding'.

Perhaps this was meant to be, Ashlyn striking. They took her life or what it could have been the moment the wheel started turning- with the sons of Skyrim spilling their own blood. 

She didn't want to be the Last Dragonborn.

Being the Dragonborn was not a life worth living anymore.

She would end this war, needless violence, and would vanish into legend- where her namesake belonged.

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As one would believe, committing mass murder requires dedication, planning and most importantly _apathy_. 

Glaring at names penned in ebony ink Ashlyn swept a delicate line through the bottom most four. They'd been officers and commanders of the Rebellion. Men who wronged and were wronged by her blade. 

No, no, _apathy_ Ashlyn reminds herself. The time for guilt would be with the next daybreak. 

And when she wasn't sitting at the desk of one Ulfric Stormcloak. 

Lifting herself from the chair with not a sound, list once more tucked away, Ashlyn sunk into a crouch. Ulfric's chambers were across the way, with only a few guards in-between. Ashlyn wouldn't kill them, for they did not need to die, but they had to be out of her way. 

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Ashlyn observed the would-be king in his natural habitat. 

His chambers were only slightly warm to her half-blood self, what little Atmoran ice in her veins kept her from shivering. Ulfric wasn't resting, nor was he doing anything productive....he was just staring into the embers of a dying fire.

He seemed lost.

For a moment, Ashlyn envisioned her life should she have joined the Rebellion. She would no doubt have been engaged to Ulfric after Alduin's demise, a nineteen year old destined to be bound to a thirty-something man whose ranks would never truly except her....She was only half Nord after all. 

Would they have sent her after the Empire? Would they force her to claim the throne? She did have a blood claim on it after all, and she would have been able to swiftly eliminate any opposition. Being Empress or High Queen would have been a horrible fate.

Whatever the case, it was far too late for 'what ifs' now. Ulfric's fate sealed the moment she wrote his name in ink, the moment she donned the shrouded garb- blade of woe her weapon of choice and paralysis spell her only ally. 

Approaching from behind, Ashlyn casted paralysis and pressed the tip of her blade into Ulfric's neck. He couldn't struggle. He couldn't speak. He could offer no plea to save his life. Yet, Ashlyn turned his head to face her and lowered her black mask from her face.

He recognized her, despite the lack of war paint around her eyes and blonde hair tucked away. He knew it was her. The Dragonborn come to end his life, his legacy.

"For what could have been Ulfric, I wish your travel to Sovngarde swift. Farewell."

With a sharp twist of her wrist, the Blade of Woe claimed another soul.  
  


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The irony of the Day of the Black Sun was the legacy it held to the Empire. Martin Septim sacrificed himself on the same day, the last of his line....a man brave enough to give his life and love for his people. The Empire's symbol was for the Dragonborn rulers in its history, despite Martin being the last. The current Emperor had no claim to the blood and honored the Last Dragonborn in her destiny. He offered her a home outside Skyrim.

She would apologize one day to him for her actions, but that would not be today.

General Tullius had ordered her to be beheaded that fateful day in Helgen, where the wheel began its final turn, and even though he knew she was innocent...sentenced her to die to save face.

This time, the General would have his head on the block.   
  
Ashlyn lied in wait for Tullius to respond to her false note- one that claimed to have the Dragonborn hostage, ready for the General to ‘recruit’. It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing had happened, yet Ashlyn had always escaped. The General wouldn’t waste any time.

  
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Ashlyn had been right. The General arrived shortly thereafter. He seemed confused to only see her, 'bound' form kneeling on the execution's platform. Ashlyn's blonde hair untucked and unbraided, a strange sight for one who knew the mighty Dragonborn. Her braids were symbolic in the same way feasts were for Nords. Only coming from victory. 

Lifting her head, Ashlyn pinned the General with her steel gaze and paralysis spell.

Putting effort into hoisting the imperial onto the platform, the woman felt a sick sense of justice slither down her spine. The General's head was on the block and she'd use his own sword to end him.

Ashlyn turned his head to face hers.

"For the innocent you killed Tullius, I sentence you to die by beheading. May I never catch you in the afterlife, General."

The acceptance in the General's eyes brought the sword down on his neck. 

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The Day of the Black Sun passed. 

Ashlyn had returned to Breezehome as she awaited the news of mass assassination to arrive from both sides. It didn't take very long and Lydia, her loyal friend and housecarl, began the next step towards peace.

Lydia pointed the blame to Ashlyn.

One might think this as betrayal, but it focused attention to the Dragonborn.  
  
The Revered Peacemaker, Bane of Alduin, the Last Dragonborn- an assassin? Ashlyn never denied anything.  
  
Once again, the Dragonborn demanded peace to be brought forth from both sides. The command structure was chaos as Ashlyn had not only assassinated those in command, but also those who would be next in line for the power. No one could replace Ulfric as the leader of the Rebellion anyways.

Needless to say their compliance was swift.

And with that, the Sons of Skyrim no longer shed their own blood.

  
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Who would rule Skyrim as High King? 

Well, many assumed that as their hero the Last Dragonborn would rule. That was not to be. 

Ashlyn had crowned Jarl Calida of Windhelm as High Queen of Skyrim herself. Calida was a great friend to the Last Dragonborn and was the younger sister of Ulfric Stormcloak. Calida would rule Skyrim justly, yet would give no quarter to those that threaten her lands. 

A little over a month would pass with the new High Queen, with news of vampire attacks shattering the fragile peace.

"To work then?" the High Queen asked the Last Dragonborn.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, this could be better. 
> 
> Calida is actually one of my other Dragonborns, and is the protagonist of "Dovah's Mate" on Wattpad. 
> 
> We'll be back to our regularly scheduled program next time.


	7. Chapter Four: "Biding Time, Dovah Nature"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while, I know. My skyrim game still refuses to run and now Inquisition! It's a conspiracy, I tell you. 
> 
> Unfortunately, this is a short one. It isn't one of my best, but I knew my readers deserved something anyways, because ya'll are amazing.

**Chapter Four**

_** Biding time, Dovah Nature ** _

Ashlyn and her newly bought mare, Stormborn, made camp in the upper hills of the Hinterlands.   
  
It was a cold night, rain no doubt on the horizon, with Ashlyn awoken by her battle sense. Something was approaching her camp.

Snatching up Dragonbane, Ashlyn crawled from her small shelter. 

"If you approach silently, then I will conclude you are a threat. Speak _now_ if you are not." Ashlyn spoke in a warning tone, far too drained to cast a detect life spell even though Fire Breath rumbled low in her throat, a consequence of her _**Dovah** _nature.

A deep voice called out, exhaustion evident in a way Ashlyn recognized, "I am not a threat, merely passing." 

Ashlyn nodded, "You have a destination stranger?" she spoke again, her battle sense washing away after detecting no threat.

"No."

Ashlyn raised a blonde brow, "Fare well then Stranger." 

"You as well." 

Silence followed and after a few minutes, Ashlyn returned to her shelter. 

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Ashlyn kept to the upper hills for the next few days. She kept to herself mostly, although a few of the refugees visited her. One in particular, an elven woman named Tauriel, kept Ashlyn company. The two were night and day to others. Tauriel was skilled with her daggers and bow, while Ashlyn preferred to use Dragonbane. Ashlyn was quiet while Tauriel was talkative. They got along just fine however and Ashlyn allowed Tauriel to travel with her on Stormborn.   
  
They barely crossed a shallow river when sounds of fighting caught their attention. 

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Ashlyn joined the choas of combat with Dragonbane, with Tauriel at a distance with her bow. It was four against Ashlyn, with her not at all uncomfortable with those odds.   
  
Using a bit of her mana, Ashlyn casted 'shove'. It was powerful enough to throw two of her enemies away from her by a decent amount. They didn't get up again. 

Using Dragonbane, Ashlyn kept the last two at a distance. Shoving one backwards, Ashlyn drew on her _**Thu'um**_ and hastily spoke, " **Walk away.** " 

Her _**Thu'um**_ failed to convince them to save their hides, much like the bandits she'd first fought. Nonetheless Ashlyn rapidly moved forward, Dragonbane cutting one of her enemies clean through from shoulder to waist. It was bloody, gorey, yet effective as the last still standing turned tail and fled. The Last figured the image of her speckled with blood, sword dripping crimson would turn most away.

More's the pity, Ashlyn mused. Her _**Dovah**_ was awakening slowly from the recent bouts of violence, the bloodlust that all Dragons could share was begin to burn her blood. 

Unfortunately, Ashlyn had quite a bit of practice defying her very nature. 

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With the bout of combat over, Ashlyn washed Dragonbane in the river water as Tauriel spoke with a bearded, lumbering man. From what she could gather, Tauriel was trying to glean information about what else the upper Hills held. 

Tauriel was also trying to stay off the topic of Ashlyn's gorey kill, no doubt. It wasn't a sight most could stand. Even Ashlyn had trouble viewing the mutilated corpse without wanting to hurl. 

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Ashlyn was joined by Tauriel once Dragonbane was clean and sheathed once more. The elven woman seemed a bit more relaxed by the river and away from a stranger. The two continued on their way. 

Ashlyn was to find and rescue Miraak after all. 

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Miraak hissed, spat, and snarled curses in every tongue he knew.  
  
It wasn't enough for his captor to bind him in such a humiliating position (his hands bound behind his back, with a chain that looped around his neck), but to order him the same one would a _mutt_....

Well, it was a harsh reminder of Miraak's servitude to Herma Mora- a reminder that made his _**Dovah**_ blood burn in rage.

He couldn't afford to show his true strength. What his captor had witnessed (and thwarted somehow) was just a small portion of what the First could truly do. _**Yol-Toor-Shul**_ was child's play in comparison. 

Ashlyn would smack him for that. 

The thought of his dearest friend and fellow _**Dov-ah-kiin**_ gave the old **_Dovah_** some solace. The Last had given her word to help him, had traversed from Nirn for him. 

Oh yes, his captor had no idea what he had wrought. One furious **_Dovah_** was a trial itself, but two of the most powerful creatures to reside in Nirn?

A storm was coming, that was certain. Miraak only had to bide his time until he could escape, even if that included obeying such demeaning orders. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. Miraak is both difficult and easy to write for me. I mean, I understand his character in this setting (or my canon divergence, curse you Bethseda!), but getting it down just so is nearly impossible at times. That tends to be why his section is towards or at the end. 
> 
> Bet ya'll already know who the 'Stranger' is huh?


	8. Chapter Five: "Bound"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miraak’s captor.... 
> 
> Oh boy.

**Chapter Five**   
  
** _Bound_ **

There wasn't much Ashlyn could say against Tauriel's company. The elven woman was skilled, bow more so than blade, yet draped herself in silence like one would a cloak- something Ashlyn found familiar as a former Nightingale. The same as she found it a bit unsettling. Ashlyn was a Nightingale of Nocturnal no longer, and enjoyed her time in the light with the sounds of the world giving her companionship. 

Tauriel, not so much. 

It made sense, in hindsight. Even elves on Nirn were silent hunters at their very core- Thalmor agents used that to their advantage after all.   
  


"You seem unnereved." 

Ashlyn turned to her companion as they trotted along the dirt path that would lead them towards Miraak, near amusement coloring her next words, "You seem observant." 

"Funny. Who was it we are rescuing again?" Tauriel retorted, dropping her original statement in favor of a question.

"Miraak, my _**zeymah**_." The word rolled off Ashlyn's tongue in a slightly thicker brogue, one that rumbled from her throat in a concise manner. Tauriel was visibly surprised at that, not having heard Ashlyn ever speak _**Dovahzul**_ before.

"What did you just say?"

Ashlyn smirked at the elven woman, with an answer nonetheless, "My kin."

"Oh."

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The lands were gradually becoming colder the closer the two came to the southern region. The Frostback mountains, according to Ashlyn's map. Miraak's captor would be traveling to the region soon enough, to which Ashlyn wouldn't have much time to rescue him. 

Until then, Ashlyn and Tauriel waited. 

  
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The two spent their time training with the other, Tauriel teaching the Last about Thedas' plants while Ashlyn helped to sharpen the elf's skill with a blade. 

Ashlyn made sure that if she was captured as well....Tauriel would take Stormborn and run the other direction. The elf seemed somewhat relieved at those instructions. 

One night became three. Three became seven. Seven became fourteen. On that fourteenth night, Ashlyn was awakened by Tauriel's hissed warning from outside her tent. 

"There's an army set up to the North." 

Nothing more needed to be said for Ashlyn to prepare her weapons and armor. Before she left Tauriel to pack up the camp, the Last stopped the elven woman- 

"If the worst does come to pass, I should warn you to be prepared for war."   
  


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Ashlyn prayed to Noctural for the first time in years as she lurked in the shadows of the camp. She'd need Lady Luck tonight. 

Beyond the first watchman Ashlyn had executed, the camp had no one to spot the Last. It was strange. Typically there were one or two guards on the inside as well. If Miraak was indeed a prisioner here, there would be a guard (or four if she knew her kin) to keep him from escaping- Ashlyn did not see any in the near vicinity. 

Something was wrong with this. Either that or Miraak's captor was just that confident no one would try to sneak in to their camp. Cocky or confident, she always got those two confused. 

Ashlyn continued to move further on.

  
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Miraak sat chained still, back bowed from the collar binding him to the ground and to his ankle. It was a humiliating position no matter how many times he'd been in it. The once proud _**Dov-ah-kiin**_ nothing more than a captured pet. 

He couldn't use his _**Thu'um**_ due to the collar, runes glowed dimily out of the corner of his eye- ones that he'd seen in another life....

Footsteps echoed, Miraak watching the entrance. They were too loud to be his kin. 

His captor's disfiguring appearance filled his sight.

"Very clever, _**Dov-ah-kiin.**_ Thinking to use your dreams, to keep your plans from me...." 

Miraak wanted to scream. He wanted to unleash _**Yol-Toor-Shul**_ right in his captor's face. He....wanted to cry. 

Freedom, he wanted his freedom. No more chains to bind him!

"The other _**Dov-ah-kiin**_ is here. I should thank you for bringing her to me." 

**No!**

  
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Ashlyn had been captured. Something had drained her energy, the same as Drain Vitality did. 

She was chained. 

Their captor moved on soon enough.

Their captor brought them to the Conclave.

The two Dragonborn were forced to use Bend Will on the Wardens before the Wardens could be bound with blood magic. 

  
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The chains were loosened enough for Miraak to shout. His captor had believed his stamina to be too drained to do much. 

Miraak stood from the corner and shouted again, in the direction of his captor- 

_**FUS RO** _

The orb, the intricately carved one that had been used to capture him before hit the ground near the door opposite. 

_**WULD NAH KEST** _

Miraak's hand grasped the orb.

_The world exploded.  
  
  
_

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...There we go! I struggled a lot to get this chapter even close to being done, but here it is!  
> Bonus: I got my skyrim game to work again! Turns out Vortex really does not like me.  
> I'll be posting the next Act introduction soon!  
> And I want to get your theories too! How did Miraak's captor know about Miraak's dreams? How is his captor able to bind Miraak's shout? Who the hell is Miraak's captor? 
> 
> Bonus points if anyone can tell me what fandom Tauriel is from.


	9. Chapter Six: "Krosis"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, Ashlyn is wearing her Guildmaster armor. I decided to change it for background reasons- if Ashlyn was retired, she wouldn't be the Guildmaster anymore- why would she have the armor still and why would she wear it? Check out Dragonborn's Wall for pictures of that set compared to the present one. Don't want to? Think Geralt's Witcher 3 armor that's suited to a feminine form with a black fur collar.
> 
> In other news, the world is against me right now. Had to send my laptop off to get fixed. The people who fix computers is notorious for basically deleting my entire computer memory. I know they're trying to do something nice, but when you're me with almost a complete year's worth of mods and documents....yeah. 
> 
> Hey I'm not complaining or anything....maybe I am, but seriously all my thousands of sims cc and mods! I can't rescue them now....and now that I finally got my Skyrim up and running with mods.... :(

**Chapter Six**

_**Krosis  
** _

_Agony._

Everything of hers was on fire- her skin, her blood, her bones. Her throat was aching, her mouth felt dry. She could barely feel her _**Thu'um**_ in her chest.

Was she dead? 

Was this her penance, her punishment for her sins?   
  
Has she forgotten a deal struck with a prince? 

**Ysmir.**  
  
A chill settled on her chest, seeping through armor- it was enough incentive for the Last to open her eyes. 

Green. So much _green._ The disgusting shade was horrifyingly familiar, provoking an unbidden memory to escape its cage-

**Ysmir.**

Whoever was calling her by her title would just have to wait until something made sense. 

Or until the Last could move more than her eyelids without another dose of _agony_ shooting up her spine. 

_This is the last time I let Miraak talk me into-_

Miraak. 

The bastard was calling her no doubt. Who else would be here with the Last in Apocropha that wasn't a grotesque mess of tentacles and eyeballs? 

Well, as far as she could see that is. 

Her arrival to Sovrngarde shouldn't be this bad....or this _green._

If not, Tsun had some explaining to do.   
  


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_**Sil-Zoor-Ah** _

  
The **_Thu'um_** echoed in the plane, strong, **_suleyk_** (power) evident. Only a few beings knew her _**dovah**_ name and this _**Thu'um**_ resonated deep in her bones, not the sensation of dread she'd always felt when a hostile **_Dovah_** spoke to her. 

It belonged to Miraak, no doubt, the skeever-brained bastard. Why was he not calling her Ash-  
  


Ysmir. _Dragon of the North_. _**Dov-ah-kiin**. **Sil-Zoor-Ah.** _  
  


That's who, _what_ , she was. How ironic it would be to forget that now of all times- in Apocrypha

The ground shook slightly underneath Ashlyn, pain sparking throughout her body. It wasn't complete agony for the moment, the Last using that reprieve to draw on her mana reserve-the golden aura of her grand healing spell seemed strange with the sickly green background.   
  
Her body was still encased in her armor, and the chain that had bound her wrists to her collar was broken. The collar wasn't around her throat anymore. Had it been removed somehow?

Rolling over to her stomach, Ashlyn groaned with the dulled pain that resulted. Her spell had healed her wounds to the point she wouldn't die from them, but she supposed the pain was a good reminder that the Last still lived.

  
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Ashlyn dragged herself across the rocky plains of the Apocrypha plane, clutching her side in pain as she kept moving. So far, she'd not seen any seekers or signs of life, despite her battle sense alerting her to _something_ nearby. Ashlyn pulled on her mana, the rumble of her **_Thu'um_** building at the back of her throat, a familiar sensation that offered some comfort.  
  
Her captor had taken the rest of her weapons- which meant that Dragonbane might still be recoverable. Nothing else she brought was worth as much to the Last as Dragonbane- the Akaviri sword was powerful and had been her weapon of choice for many years. It was a miracle in of itself that the sword was not shards by this point. 

If her captor had broken it, she would not make his death swift. 

Tipping her head back, her weakened Thu'um rumbled through the plane, the same as thunder over the plains of the reach. 

_**Bah-Rel-Gruth** _

In another life she had used a dragon's name to summon them, curiousity and pride drawn on to lure into a trap. _**Od-Ah-Viing**_ had become an ally as she was still his **_Thur_** , his lord, much the same as _**Dur-Neh-Viir**_. It felt stranger for Ashlyn to call for Miraak using his own _**Dovah**_ name. 

Unfortunately, the Last's shout drew the attention of whatever had been lurking at the edge of her battle sense. Ashlyn prepared to use another _**Thu'um**_ against a seeker, although her mana reserves were to be signifigantly depleated. Seekers weren't difficult to defeat once they were set alight by dragon fire. 

Yet they still sent a shiver of dread down the Last's spine.

What approached her was _not_ a seeker.   
  
Green, wispy and a mortal shape- a Breton by height was the form that greeted her. Ashlyn did not need to see its face (or lack of one) to _feel_ its animosity. Her battle sense heightened and Ashlyn took a step back as _**Yol**_ rose in her throat. She spoke harshly, voice raw and grated as if she had been swallowing ash, offering the same warning she gave her enemies, with her _**Thu'um**_ emphasizing the words, simple as they may be, " **Walk away** _ **.**_ _"_

It came closer. 

So be it. 

Ashlyn unleased her _**Thu'um**_ into the plane, the amber and white dragon fire disturbingly bright against the sickly green. 

_**YOL** _

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Ashlyn nearly cried in relief when Miraak half dragged her away from the remains of the creature. _**Yol**_ had taken more of her mana then expected and her battle sense was flickering in and out the same as a candle flame. Once they were somewhere safe, Ashlyn swore she would punch Miraak for dragging her into this mess. 

"Ysmir we need to continue on." 

The familair voice was a joy to hear nonetheless. Miraak seemed no worse for wear, strangely enough. In fact, he seemed as he did before he was captured.

"What happened?" Ashlyn questioned, voice cracking- she was so _thirsty._ It now _felt_ as if she had ash in her throat. 

"The...conclave was destroyed." 

That was _not_ what she had been expecting to hear. The Last had been expecting to be dead, her soul claimed by Herma Mora somehow and the _**faaz**_...the pain meant to be a penance.

 _....Were_ _they dead?_

"I was able to break free, but it seems we were the only to survive." Miraak answered her unspoken question. 

"How was I..." Ashlyn trailed off, swallowing hard. 

Miraak continued along with Ashlyn, the now rocky plane narrowing and somehow more green. Strange. 

"I don't remember." 

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

They carried on. Ashlyn's battle sense, still flickering, didn't have to feel out the next problem the First and Last faced. There was a great source of energy close by that drew them towards it, like a moth to a flame.

Apocrypha's plane was fractured, beginning to tear itself apart at the seams. Through murky emerald, a richer shade then the plane itself, the Last and the First observed a convoluted scene through the fracture. 

"That's a way out." Ashlyn muttered lowly. Miraak seemed to agree as he lead them towards it. For the moment, it was just them as they neared it- until the moment they were only a few feet away. Creatures, _monsters_ began to descend on them. 

"Damn it." Miraak cursed, his hold adjusted on Ashlyn. 

"Leave me." said Ashlyn, voice almost non-existent.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

The First did not respond, head swiveling around as he glared at the monsters about to overcome them. He would be able to fight them off, his _**Thu'um**_ strong and his hands ready to summon a weapon. He couldn't fight while bearing most of Ashlyn's weight however. 

He could drop her, but that thought hurt his heart. His **_briinah_** , his sister, had left her home, her retirement, her _world_ in order to help him. He wouldn't leave her for dead to save himself. 

Yet, he had no choice but to separate from her once again. 

He turned Ashlyn so her back faced the fracture, his grip barely tight enough to keep her standing. 

" _ **Krosis**_ , **_briinah_**." Miraak said, _**Dovahzul**_ rumbling off of his tongue in a thick broque. Ashlyn's eyes snapped to his when the words registered. 

It was too late for her to do anything about it however (if she had the energy to) as the First's _**Thu'um**_ struck her right in the chest sending the Last right through the fracture. 

_**FUS** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! I changed my mind on this being the second act introduction, so it will probably either be after chapter seven or chapter eight, maybe even after this chapter. It's really not me at the wheel, but my muse. She's a crazy one, I'll tell you. I originally meant for both of the Dragonborn to go through the same rift, but eh, that's too easy apparently. 
> 
> I flipped a coin. Heads, they both go through. Tails, only one. Tails won obviously. 
> 
> Now, I think I have an idea for where the Last will end up. Want a hint? Most DA:I fans who swoon over a certain Warden might understand.... 
> 
> ....Is that a bear? or a person?


	10. Chapter Seven: "Nu nahlaas?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nu nahlaas? = Still alive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's shorter than I thought it would be, but here you go.

**Chapter Seven  
  
 ** _Nu nahlaas?_**  
  
  
**

Ashlyn was going to murder Miraak. 

It would be bloody. It would be gory….and she was going to laugh the whole damn time. 

What was the idiot thinking? Using Fus… Her armor was soaked and so was her tunic underneath, but she was no worse then she had been in Apocrophya. No, she still hurt, but she could breathe somewhat easier now. Fortunately, the fracture had been only barely above a shallow river bed, so the fall didn't break anything or drown her. She didn't appreciate water drenching her to the bone, however. 

She felt like a khajiit with how pissed off she was at being wet.

That thought caused a startled bark of laughter to escape- her sense of humor in the face of mortality was still as sharp as ever it seemed. No amount of aimless wandering or days passed in laziness could dull it. 

_Lovely._

It took the Last a moment more to realize that she was still lying on the river bed, water trickling by her ears in a gentle manner. Peaceful, in a way. 

Ashlyn went to lift her head, to look at her surroundings more, which became an issue of willpower because of the weight of her wet hair and braids. Was everything against her now? Even her own hair wanted to make her life that much more difficult.

She still had to get up though. Miraak would need her still.

The bastard wasn't getting rid of her that easily.

**{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}**   
  


When Ashlyn lost consciousness, she couldn't recall. Her sleeping mind had been dark, no dreams or nightmares plagued her-Miraak hadn't made an appearance either. The Last hoped that meant he was only recuperating and not.... _ **Dilon** -dead. _

She wasn't fully asleep, her body merely gave up on her it seemed. Weights in her bones and sand in her joints proved her right. She felt warmer and much drier, a relief for sure- but where was her unconscious form? Had she been captured again? Had a merciful refugee taken care of her? 

It didn't matter at the moment, however, as sleep soon tugged Ashlyn back under, to which the Last went willingly.   
  
This time, she did dream- one comprised of memory. 

**  
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**   
_The **Monahven** , Throat of the World, was a calm respite for one of the Dragonblood, **Sossedov**.  
  
The bitter, harsh cold would pierce the bones of any other, but for one who could bathe in fire, it was as it was- a **strunmah** , mountain, for which to meditate. _   
  
_Ashlyn remembered the cold, how **Paar-Thur-Nax** watched as she built a fire pit and rested amidst the flames, beginning to meditate as she remained unburnt- the elder had merely observed her before speaking in his draconic nature. _   
  
_" **Yol** , In your tongue, the word simply means 'fire.'"_

  
_This was sometime before Ashlyn had fought **Al-du-in** for the first time.  
She had the **Kel** , the elder scroll, among her possessions, but did not feel strong enough to bear its power. Meditating on the third word of power **Paar-Thur-Nax** offered was calming. _

_  
" It is change given form, power at its most primal. That is the true meaning of **Yol** \- **suleyk** , power." _

_  
Ashlyn understood power and its consequences, far better than most. She wouldn't have been **Dov-ah-kiin** if power hadn't been so coveted and desired. She wondered for a moment if she would have even been born._

_  
"You have it, as do all **Dov**. "  
_

_  
Ashlyn could feel the truth of his words in her soul, her dragon nature rumbling as she nurtured its understanding- she possessed power and was capable of **Yol**. _

_  
"But power is inert without action and choice."  
_

_  
Conviction to wield power, to choose to use such a deadly ability, to even remotely tap into her draconic soul. That was a dangerous decision to make, one she had to every time she fought for her life against the forces that may be._

_  
"Think of this as the fire builds in your **su'um** , in your breath. **Su'um ahrk morah** ." _

_  
Breath and focus. The first lesson she'd ever taught herself as she kneeled on the cold ground, trying to contain the power unleashed by **Mir-Mul-Nir**. _

_  
"What will you burn? What will you spare?"_

  
  
**{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}**   
  


Miraak owed Ashlyn, _Ysmir_ , an apology. For many things, he surmised, that his pride would not let him speak of. 

The Last had been in a similar situation, as he recalled, many times over- forced to survive as in a **_Dovah_** 's nature. He had mocked her countless times for her unfortunate luck.  
  
What was it that gave living beings the will to keep moving forwards? What had kept _him_ going- chained to Hermaeus Mora for four thousand years? A question that had plagued him for many years. 

It was times like this, stuck in winter's grasp with no end in sight, that Miraak knew he was only as alive as he kept himself. 

Atmora was a harsh land, much more so than Skyrim, and its natives were well acclimated to life there- which allowed an Atmoran's skin some resistance to the biting cold. There was only so long Miraak could go in just his armored robes, however. The artic wind nipping at his unshaven face made him miss his Dragon Priest mask- although he was sure the Last would shout him back to Oblivion if he ever admitted that. 

The fact that Ysmir found his mask 'unbearably creepier than the creepy seekers' still amused him to no end. 

He missed Ysmir too. 

The bond that strung them together so tightly, a bond of **_sos a_** ** _hrk qeth_** -blood and bone- nearly brought him to tears ( _him_ , of all people) at the thought of her in pain or worse- _**Dilon**_. 

Dead.

He owed her his life. He owed her his loyalty. He would need to be **_nahlaas_** -alive in order to fulfill that debt.   
  
To stay alive, he had to keep moving. He had to find shelter. 

Miraak trudged farther through the snow. 

**{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}**

**END OF ACT ONE  
**

**  
**  
  
**ACT TWO: SILENCE FELL**

~~**_6/1/20_**~~

**_5/30/20_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might be wondering "What the hell is with the end here?"  
> It's Dovah-zul. No reason why  
> I'll be posting the translations on the Wall (see what I did there?) later. Check it out if you want to know what the end says.
> 
> Although, bonus points to anyone who can correctly translate this themselves. You'll have my eternal respect.
> 
> As for the date of Act two's release...that means that is the latest I will post the actual first chapter of that act. The Act intro does not count, so it will come sometime next week. 
> 
> See you then!


	11. Act Two: Silence fell

_  
**"....When the first blood was spilled."** _

**Ashlyn Ysmir Strundu'ul**

The Last Dragonborn She Who Bears the Storm Crown  
Dragon of the North Bane of _**Al-Du-In**_  
Champion of the Dawnguard Savior of Solstheim  
Master of the Voice The Revered Peacemaker  
Breaker of Chains The Half-Blood Savior  
The Unburnt Butcher of War  
Destroyer of Legacies She Who Slaughters  
The Vanquisher Second Conquerer of Tamriel  
 _  
_

_"I've seen enougb of war, enough of death. My blood has stained the lands of old, dragons have bowed to my power, cowards and kings have fallen before me. I have lost many I loved...for what? What more does destiny want from me?"_

**_Miraak_**

The First Dragonborn Child of War  
Paragon of Redemption Master of the Voice  
Dreamwalker Elder Dragon  
Dragon of the East He Who Bows No More  
Herald of Andraste   
  


_"Redeemed of my past transgressions, given friendship-nay, kinship without a price....Did my path to redemption lead me here?"  
  
  
  
_

  


****

****

  


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**  
**

****

  


****

  


****

  


  
**  
  
**

  
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**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Act name from the song by Joy Aileen “Black Wings”. It’s an original Skyrim song!


	12. Chapter Eight: "Not Your Enemy"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's finally here! I can't wait for this next act (even though I'm the one writing it).

**Chapter Eight**

_**Not Your Enemy** _

The road to recovery wasn't as long as Ashlyn thought. 

She had awoken only three days prior, yet her strength was almost as it once was- when she was still active as the Last. Her mana reserves weren't so shallow that it would take so quickly for them to replenish, but using her **_Thu'um_** after so long and in such harsh circumstances (a new world with magic nearly foreign to her) had effected her mana.

Not to mention the shout that had brought her to Thedas in the first place.

The mere thought of it sent faint tremors through her body, the bowl in her grasp trembling. The man sat across her took notice, his own bowl lowered a bit to speak, Ashlyn's own voice stopped him, however, "I'm fine. Just a bit cold still." 

It was only a small truth (the most she could give at the moment) that she was cold- a chill settled in the pit of her stomach. It had been that way since she'd woken. It wasn't so unfamiliar that she'd mistake it for a mere temperature problem, but it had no name that came to mind. 

The man spoke, gruff voice revealed concern, "Are you sure that's all?" 

What could Ashlyn tell him? She did not fully understand herself. With a faint smile, Ashlyn replied, "Yes, Blackwall. Thank you for your concern." 

That was the name he'd given, the man, the one who'd pulled her from the water and nursed her back to health. A burly, stout frame that no doubt came from his choice in weaponry (a sword and shield) and a decent personality from their short acquaintance. His face was bearded, dark brown hair in a near shoulder-length style and some aging signs showed around his steel eyes. His voice was strong and if he had the Nordic accent, Ashlyn could've mistaken him for a guard on sound alone.

He seemed uncomfortable in his own skin.

It wasn't entirely uncommon for Ashlyn to find this observation among those of the underworld, the darkest parts of **_Keizaal_** (Skyrim), or the Empiric Provinces- she'd been that way too, even long after discarding the shadows and throat-cutting. Whatever his past, Ashlyn doubted she would judge him for it.

Correction- she _c_ _ouldn't_ judge him for it. Disregard her own past for a moment, the Last owed him her life. He had no obligation to help her. He could have easily left her there in the river to freeze to death as many of **_Taazokaan_** (Tamriel) would do. He saved her without ever knowing her and deserved her respect- she would do her best to earn it in kind. 

That doesn't spare him from her teasing though. 

When Ashlyn had first gained full consciousness, she'd made the standard exchange of names and had explained (briefly, lacking explicate detail) what had led her to be 'half-drowned' (as he'd called it) in the river bed. He'd also changed her from her soaked tunic and removed her armor- which meant he'd seen most of her bare skin and scars. 

Ashlyn had given him a coy look and asked him if he liked what he saw, which led to her clutching her bruised stomach from laughter at his red face.   
  


**{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}**

  
The two had fallen into a routine of sorts. Ashlyn would cook whatever Blackwall hunted or caught. Ashlyn would heal him if he was hurt, to which Blackwall never shied away from. He'd commented that her Restoration magic was calming rather than unnerving, which seemed to endear her to him somewhat.

He didn't speak much either, which was fine with the Last. Her throat ached from speaking at all, a punishment for using her _**Thu'um**_ too much. It was nothing compared to the sensation it once had been when she was seventeen- the equivalent of shoving a torch down her throat. Not many knew that her selective muteness wasn't a choice. 

She wasn't sure if she could be content without her **_Thu'um_** rumbling in her chest. It had been apart of her for nearly two decades, keeping her alive in even the direst of circumstances. It had allowed her to rise from the shadows of the underworld, the life of a cutthroat, to someone- _something_ \- more. The two years she'd been quiet, her _**Thu'um**_ was still there- it would always be there and her being quiet was a choice for once. 

She missed the peace and quiet though. The simplicity of working the land kept her sane and content. 

The view from the shack was pretty enough, Ashlyn surmised. A clear lake, mountains in the distance, the sound of a waterfall trickling in her ears- very calming. 

Blackwall wasn't bad company either, she supposed. 

Miraak and Serana rarely visited her cabin, as the risk of discovery increased for the Last. Her two dearest friends were apologetic about such, yet that did not stave off the loneliness that dug into Ashlyn's bones. No **_dov_** could be alone forever either...even _**Paar-Thur-Nax**_ had the Greybeards and her at times. 

_Miraak._

Where was the First? He wouldn't die so easily, a fact the Last could attest to. The clanging of metal against metal (Miraak's _**Thu'um**_ piercing her skin) still rang in her ears even years after they tried to kill the other. She wasn't even sure what forced her to spare him and break his chains. It would have been so _easy_ to rip his throat out...

No. 

She couldn't think of that. Not without her **_Dovahsos_** warming. 

She needed to fight. 

**{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}**

  
There were people. 

It was a startling thing to find, civilization, after traveling so long through the snow. How long had it been actually? A few days? A few weeks? Who could truly know? He had survived by sheer luck, he was certain. Damn **_Dovahsos_** (Dragonblood) was barely useful for keeping him warm. At least his Atmoran heritage would guarantee he did not perish by frostbite.

There was another tear in the fabric of Thedas- **_tiid_** (time) was wounded, not broken, but any child of Akatosh could sense it. _**Tiid**_...He had some to spare to lend his blade for those in need against the **_deyra_** (daedra)

That's what Ysmir would do, no? Jump to the aid of strangers...

Miraak rushed into the fray, left hand throbbing with a steady pulse as he came closer to the tear- he pushed away the discomfort to summon a blade. **_Yol_** rumbled in his throat, begging to be unleashed. He was all too eager to oblige, to feel the fire in his chest and in his throat. 

Centering himself for a moment, blade cutting through _**deyra**_ flesh (do the things even have flesh?), Miraak took in a breath ( _focus_ ) and exhaled- 

**_YOL_ **

_**{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}** _

  
Ashlyn might've been without Dragonbane, but the familiar weight of a ** _tuz arhk spaan_** (sword and shield) was heart-rending... ** _  
_**

 ****She had left a life of a shield-maiden behind so long ago (sometime after killing Harkon if she recalled correctly). It was strange to have the weight back on her left arm, as if she could cut down any enemy with it there.

She despised how comforting it was.

Ashlyn had been able to convince Blackwall that she was fine to travel to the crossroads by herself and for the most part it was dull- her **_Thu'um_** was settled and barely rumbled in her chest anymore. The refugees were happy to see her alive and she returned the sentiment, glad to see them doing better. They seemed eerily on guard, however, constantly looking over shoulders with fear-stricken gazes.

Ashlyn didn't need to question what they were afraid of...a man in full steel armor (a knight), wielding a sword and shield, went in for an attack. 

The Last turned to the shopkeeper's stall, grabbed one of the low-quality short swords- and went on the defensive. 

Shields were good for defending from spells and harsh strikes, but against a skilled warrior (who used to wield one day in and day out) they were more of a bane than an advantage. Ashlyn kept the Knight's sword away with her own and when they went in to do a shield bash, Ashlyn ducked out to the side and thrust her own sword into the gap of armor under the arm. 

It was a lethal strike. 

Ashlyn, now with blood spatter on her clothes, could feel her **_Dovahsos_** thrumming in her veins. With more of these Knights approaching, the Last armed herself with a grim smirk. 

_**{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}** _

  
Typically, in **_Taazokaan_** (Tamriel), when people heard his _**Thu'um**_...they would leave him alone. 

The **_Thu'um_** was a rare ability to possess after all- who would willingly go against that? Only those with a death wish.

Here, they were weary and afraid of him, even exhausted as he was from fighting the **_deyra_**. His **_Thu'um_** had long since faded, **_Yol_ **still warm in his chest. He'd exhaled smoke after using the shout, which he still tasted on his tongue. He kneeled in the bloody snow (most of it wasn't his), his sword kept his weight from pitching forward in exhaustion. Come what may, he would have to face- he was tired, but he was still alive. 

"Who are you?" 

The accent was strikingly familiar- where had he heard such a rich voice before? It spoke of home for a moment, as Miraak remembered he had to _speak._

"Miraak." His voice, his _**joor**_ (mortal) tone was torn from disuse, evident even just from speaking his name. Even before Thedas he rarely spoke to strangers- he left that to Ysmir or Serana. 

"What are you?" 

For another brief moment, Miraak observed who spoke to him- a tall **_Spaan-Vahdin_** with striking features. A memory burned in his mind's eye with her visage.

 ** _Akhrinah_**. 

Melancholy lured him farther into its clutches at the name-one he had loved dearly in his bloody past. He could almost feel her lithe hands cupping his cheeks, her warm breath mingling with his...

" ** _Ni hin paal._** " 

The language of his soul rolled bitterly off his tongue without his permission-even though it was a given truth. He doubted the **_Spaan-Vahdin_** or any of the other _**joore**_ (mortals) understood his words, so he forced himself to translate it to the Common tongue. 

"Not...your enemy."

  
_**{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}** _

Discarding her stolen shield and returning her borrowed sword, Ashlyn paused in her movements as her _**Dovah**_ soul _shuddered._ It wasn't in contentment from a battle well-fought (and well won) or in anguish at having to settle- no, this was more akin to _disquiet._

**_Yol._ **

The warmth of the Draconic word singed her soul, her very being, as the _**Thu'um**_ struck her in remembered power.

 ** _Miraak_**. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, some of the Dovahzul don't have immediate translations- that's for a reason! And if you're questioning how Ashlyn could feel Miraak's use of Yol...remember what they are to each other. That comes back later. 
> 
> And take a wild guess who the "Spaan-Vahdin" is. 
> 
> In other news, you're reading the work of a graduate. Yep, that's right. Class of 2020. 
> 
> Gonna be an interesting graduation ceremony. 
> 
> I also have a friend who I let read this work before I post it (she was the one to get me into Skyrim, so she's earned it), and she pointed out the Ashlyn's list of titles is missing a few- specifically the one given to her by Durnehviir (Dawnguard DLC). I say that its not one that public knowledge. Ashlyn was given her others by the people of Tamriel- as a way to keep her on a pedestal of sorts. I don't think Ashlyn would really want the honor-name to be known- it's probably the only one she's kind of proud of. 
> 
> Anyways, I'll try to keep updates as regular as possible, but I might be starting another fic. Maybe. 
> 
> \-----------  
> Comments keep me coming back people. Therefor: 
> 
> Thank you Kyattogaaru for the advice and input on Chapter 8 and on Chapter 9. Really appreciate it, so thank you very much. 
> 
> Thank you Cindar for correctly guessing what fandom Tauriel is from (the Hobbit/Lord of the Rings). Thanks. 
> 
> Thank you Anima_Incuven for the comment of Chapter 4.  
> \------------
> 
> Stay safe!


	13. Chapter Nine: Brief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief. The time it seems that we possess for a reprieve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so timeline: 
> 
> The Prologue was skipped over (was done) only because I've done it in game so many times...  
> The Breach took time to grow (to fester, like a wound), so Miraak was stuck in a cell for about two days, but had been in the Fade after helping Ashlyn escape for about three days.  
> Miraak (once he sealed the breach) was out for a day.  
> The is a week between chapter eight and nine. Tiid (time) is weird.

Chapter Nine

** _Brief_ **

For the most part, Ashlyn kept Blackwall in the dark. 

He was not aware about Ashlyn's true identity, Miraak's or _what_ they were. The First and the Last Dragonborn. They were all that was left of the mortal _**Dov.**_

 _ **Dovah**_ , they were, as the all too familiar rumble of Miraak's **_Thu'um_** echoed across the Hinterland skies. For most, the untrained ear, it could not be differentiated from thunder. The rain storms that followed could atest to that. For Ashlyn, whose own Voice carried faster and farther, she knew that it would be days before the world was settled right again from Miraak's **_Thu'um_**. Thedas could do little more than bow to their power before righting itself (was it ever right to begin with?).

Blackwall was observant, to his credit. He had commented, after her fight at the Crossroads, on the blood stains Ashlyn couldn't wash out from her tunic and how unsettled she seemed to be- more so apparently. Perhaps going years without a constant companion did not dampen his intelligence. He wasn't as introverted around her, with both his speech and mannerisms, now that she'd been there for a while (nearly two weeks since she'd woken up in his shack).

Ashlyn felt better around the Warrior, much to her surprise. Her inbred melancholy was far out of her reach and her _**Dovah**_ soul simmered, but did not rumble in her chest. Blackwall was to be a haven for the Last then? Perhaps. They seemed to be kindred spirits in a way. 

"Weather's been horrible." Blackwall's voice grumbled as he whittled away at a piece of wood. The two were barricaded inside the shack as yet another storm unleashed its torrent. The wooden walls of the shack were sturdy enough against the onslaught that neither of the two warriors worried about it collapsing on top of them. The flames from the fireplace gave off little heat, though their body heat had long since adjusted to the chill that came from the storm. 

"You don't say." Ashlyn replied with amusement, gaze not rising from the pages of her journal (a beautiful leather bound one that had been gifted to her by one of the refugees) as she recorded her journey thus far in **_Dovah zul_** (Dragon voice). 

"Its only rains once every other week." Blackwall commented, a bit of condemnation in his tone. The same tone Serena and Miraak would use when speaking with the Last more often than not. 

It would do no good to let her thoughts drift to the First, not now at least when she could not leave to track him. The irony of it all was ever amusing as it was frustrating. At least she could be comforted by the knowledge that he still lived. 

The two warriors sunk back into companionable silence, only broken by the scratching of Ashlyn's stylus across paper. 

**  
{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}  
  
  
** Miraak's throat burned as he laid upon his bed. 

The cabin walls shuddered with the wind, the world responding to Miraak's power tenfold. How strange it was for the First to listen to the howling of wind against wood again. 

It had been barely a day since Miraak had woken to the whispers of _Andraste's Champion_ and _Herald of Andraste._ Event he leadership of this 'Inquisition' had called him such. 

The feeling of _responsibility_ dug its claws in. Is this what Ysmir had to contend with for so many years? If so, he owed her an apology. 

Miraak's _**Dovahsos**_ (Dragonblood) chilled a bit as he rested, thoughts adrift. For a moment, Miraak envisioned he was back in **_Keizaal_** (Skyrim) inclining on his own bed (he could barely imagine the texture of his favorite quilt under his fingers). A small smile graced his features. 

A bang on his cabin door stirred Miraak from his reverie, the First dragged back down to the present harshly. 

"You aren't just Miraak now." The First muttered to himself, a hand dragging against his throat. Whoever was at the door banged again. "You're the Herald to these people."

Miraak's throat still burned in pain. 

**{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}**

  
  
Ashlyn's stylus paused above the page. 

The world _shifted_ for a moment. **_Teizaal._** Thedas... 

No, no. It wasn't shifting, per say-

"Everything okay, Ash?" 

Ashlyn's eyes darted to meet Blackwall's own, the firelight warming his expression of barely-there concern. 

Of course, 'everything' wasn't okay. There were too many unknowns added to the mix as well for this to be straightforward. 

Blackwall didn't need to know that though...He also didn't deserve a boldface lie. She owed him her life still. 

The Last sighed, head tilted forward towards her journal for a moment. Her hands clutched tightly at the leather, knuckles white, "No, Blackwall. Everything is not okay." 

Those words hung in the air, sharp in contrast to the cold pricking at their skin. 

"Care to elaborate?" The gruff response of her fellow warrior calmed what nerves arose during her brief words and intermittence. Again, the sensation of familiarity struck the Last. 

Ashlyn gave one final sigh and set her journal aside. 

"I told you I came here to find my brother, yes?" 

The question, rhetorical as it was, hung in the cabin air. It was evident the bearded man wasn't expecting Ashlyn to offer depth to her original answer, now that it was out there she would continue. Without his reply, negative or positive, the Last went on,   
  
"He was kidnapped. Taken right from the lands we worked." 

"By who?" 

Ashlyn's memory was blurred where it concerned her captor, images dulled through murk and shadow. Strange as it was, she placed the blame for such on the rune chains that had bound her. If she focused hard enough the pain flared to life around her neck and wrists. 

All she could give was a shrug in response, "Someone powerful." 

Blackwall seemed dissatisfied with the response, with a huffed retort, "Very helpful." 

"Well, it's not like he introduced himself before going after my brother." Ashlyn countered. 

It was Blackwall's turn to shrug, not able to argue her point. 

"Anyways, I tracked him here, but things went awry as they are known to." An understatement by far." We had to fight a few too many enemies by ourselves with weapons on hand." 

Ashlyn grumbled a bit as she reminisced the unnerving feeling of a tent spike being lanced through a living being, the weight she'd had to put behind the thrust to impale with the splintered wood. It was disturbing how easy she could recall such a sensation. 

"I am unsure of the details that led me to being 'half-drowned', as you put it, in the riverbed." 

The blanket curled tighter around herself, Ashlyn breathed in the chilled air before she spoke again, “I can’t track my brother with the storm. Thedas is against us in this instance, which is ironic-” 

Her voice cracked on the last word, which stopped her from revealing the unfiltered truth about Miraak’s power. His **_suleyk_ **(power) was surely known to some now, which makes Miraak an even bigger target. It would be inevitable that the knowledge of who else could wield such ancient magic comes to light. 

Ashlyn didn’t want Blackwall to regard her differently though. 

The warrior treated her kindly with mutual respect, one born from survival. His viewing of her scars (the garish one from _**Al-Du-In**_ in particular) told a story of going against the odds of a world that wants its people dead. Ashlyn had only seen a few of Blackwall’s scars- they gave the same impression. 

If (no, _when_ ) Blackwall knew her true self...she would fall from his good graces to be put on a pedestal of ‘you can look, but not touch’. While, yes, the Last _was_ attracted to the man, she knew that a relationship between them would burn too bright, too fast, until it was nothing but _ash._

**{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}**

"The Hinterlands?" Miraak questioned the Fledging Inquisition's leaders. Their competence (or lack thereof) was staggering- they had been ready to behead him, now he was their figurehead! Another title to toss onto the pile, the First mused. Ysmir's exasperation with the blasted things made quite a lot of sense now. 

They were ridiculous after a while. 

At best, being the 'Herald of Andraste' was amusing, what with the endless sea of faces peering up at him with awe and wonder (the occasional glare tossed in was no less so). At worst, he was now expected to _literally_ be their figurehead out in the field. Traveling to a battlefield sounded like the least of his worries when one peered up at the 'breach'. The damned thing reminded the First of the Daedric Prince of Forbidden Knowledge.

Fortunately for Miraak, the Inquisition's spymaster interrupted that particular train of thought. 

"While there, look for a Grey Warden Recruiter by the name of Blackwall." 

Cassandra, the **_Spaan-Vahdin_** , answered for him, "A Grey Warden? I thought they'd all disappeared." 

The Spymaster shook her head, "Not all it would seem. He is also with a companion, a woman."

"And?" This time it was the Commander who responded. 

"And she has been successfully fending off most of the attacks against the refugees... _single handedly_ ," Leliana emphasized the last words, much to the surprise of all present. 

"Impossible. There are both Templars and Mages present in those attacks. Going against both alone would be suicide." 

"That is what my scouts reported." 

That seemed to end the conversation, even as disbelief hung

"I will accompany the Herald to the Hinterlands. Solas and the dwarf will as well." 

Miraak side-eyed the **_Spaan-Vahdin_** as she spoke, noting again the similarities between her and **_Ahkrinah_**. It was uncanny how much they were alike, so much so that Miraak had to remind himself that this was not his mate. His mate had long since perished. 

He should have as well, with the fall of the _**Dovah**_ Masters.

However, Miraak was nothing if not stubborn. He’d survived being trapped in Apocrypha for thousands of years, he would survive Thedas and all its challenges.  
  
After all, **_Dovah_** don’t submit...They _dominate_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this took quite a while for me to update. Sorry about that. A lot's happened since I last did. My dad died from a heart attack. My mother and I were thrown into the deep end trying to fill my dad's shoes so we could stay afloat. Still struggling, but we're alive. Thanks for being patient with me.


End file.
